"What the hell do you think I'm trying to do, then?" Ianto replies, annoyed because they're only talking themselves in circles. "It's not like I've never been injured before. It's not like I've never broken my arm before, for that matter. If it feels better, I shouldn't have to wear the gloves -- I don't want to have to wear gloves to touch you, I --"
I never asked for this.
He cuts himself off, glancing away. Frustrated and embarrassed that he's letting himself get so carried away like this, letting his temper get the better of him. He's tired, irritable, and John's anger and discomfort linger like wisps of smoke on the edge of his consciousness even though he's let the other man go.
"I hate this," he says softly, at last. Not only the issue of dealing with how to touch the other man without invading his privacy, but the rest of it as well. All of it.
no subject
I never asked for this.
He cuts himself off, glancing away. Frustrated and embarrassed that he's letting himself get so carried away like this, letting his temper get the better of him. He's tired, irritable, and John's anger and discomfort linger like wisps of smoke on the edge of his consciousness even though he's let the other man go.
"I hate this," he says softly, at last. Not only the issue of dealing with how to touch the other man without invading his privacy, but the rest of it as well. All of it.